


Time Ruins All Things (Except the Thing That Get Better With It)

by ConsultingWriter



Series: Tender Moments [1]
Category: Sherlock (BBC), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sherlock and John are gettig old period, Sherlock is getting soft in his old age, early retirement, fuck this is so fluffy, i'm not even sorry, love lasts even when you get old, retirement-fic, the curiosity of a child leads to explanations and sweet moments, you might need a dentist after this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingWriter/pseuds/ConsultingWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sherlock started, turning his head to glance at his partner who was still slicing the peaches, “Some things,” he paused shortly then continued slowly, mulling over the words even as he said them “Some things get better with age. The older they get, the better they get.” </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock and John are asked by a child why people still love each other even after they've gotten old (and wrinkly). </p><p>  <i>There might be a little dust on the bottle, but don’t let it fool you, about what’s inside. There might be a little dust on the bottle, but it’s one of those things that gets sweeter with time.—Dust on the Bottle, David Lee Murphy</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Ruins All Things (Except the Thing That Get Better With It)

**Author's Note:**

> Written because today's youth has no respect for music that's not pop bullshit. This is my country music therapy.
> 
>  ~~Probably gonna be a series.~~ Definitely going to be a series.

**_There might be a little dust on the bottle, but don’t let it fool you, about what’s inside. There might be a little dust on the bottle, but it’s one of those things that gets sweeter with time.—Dust on the Bottle, David Lee Murphy_**

Sherlock stood on his front porch and looked through the window at his partner’s face with a small grin that had grown soft with time and because of the years he’d spent with the man he was now studying. Blue eyes were crinkled at the corners with crow’s feet and the laugh lines—and frown lines from his time in war and after Sherlock’s fall—ran deep in his face.

They had retired early to the country almost five years ago after John was nearly fatally stabbed by the son of a man they had put in jail merely months before and Sherlock had never been happier, not even his constant cases or his days with drugs had been this easily bliss filled and seamless.   

The retired detective’s grin deepened as he watched his partner pull a knife from the block and twirl it gracefully between his still deft hands, John had just finished washing off the peaches they’d picked and was moving to skin and cut them for boiling. Sherlock’s attention was pulled away from the doctor when a small hand tugged on his sleeve.

“Sheahlock?” the child—who had (rather unfortunately) been named ‘Hash Tag’ by a set of parents that were too young to care about anything other than themselves, let alone a living, breathing, miniature human being, and therefore had been renamed Sherrinford (without the parents knowledge or consent) by Sherlock and who was simply called ‘Ducky’ by John (even though “John, you can’t do that, this book says that being called by multiple names will confuse him,” to which John responded “He’s a child Sherlock, not a puppy, he knows I’m talking to him when I call him Ducky, just like he knows you’re talking to him when you say Sherry.”)—asked with a slight impediment on the ‘R’, John still found it lightly amusing to listen to the child try to pronounce words like ‘mark’ (ma-ah-k) or ‘mister’ (mistah).  

“Yes Sherrinford?” He murmured, running a hand over the child’s head gently; he held a large amount of affection for the boy who came to visit John and himself every day, always willing to receive whatever fondness they could spare him—which was quiet a lot and they showered the child in love quite frequently.

“How come people still love each othah when they ah old and w’inkly?” _the how come you still love John_ , who wasn’t aging as gracefully as Sherlock was due to his time in Afghanistan and the fact that he was a few years older than the detective, was implied though not said out loud “Awn’t old things gwoss? Like the old animals John makes you thwow out ‘cause they smell gwoss.”

Sherlock chuckled “They do not smell gross because they’re old Sherry, they smell that way because they are not….alive…anymore,” he stopped for a moment then crouched down, holding back a groan as his knees protested; John was right, they really _were_ getting old.

“Not all old things are gross or nasty Sherry,” Sherlock started, turning his head to glance at his partner who was still slicing the peaches, “Some things,” he paused shortly then continued slowly, mulling over the words even as he said them “Some things get better with age. The older they get, the better they get.”

The detective chuckled to himself when the boy’s eyebrows scrunched farther together as he thought it over “Like what?” he asked simply after a few minutes of contemplation.

Sherlock smiled, proud of his child—and the child was definitely his and John’s, they'd adopted him (though it was slightly 'unoffical', but Mycroft was working on that) he’d even started teaching Sherry about apiology while John had taught him how to properly apply sutures to a deep cut using a banana peel—for his never ending curiosity, and stood up. Waving his hand at Sherrinford he opened the door, leaving Sherry to close it as he made his way to the kitchen.

John looked up when Sherlock walked in and gave him a smile, pushing away from the table a bit in a clear invitation for the detective to sit down with him, which he was taken up on. He wrapped one arm around the darker haired man’s waist and the other was laid across still shapely thighs as the detective sat in his lap sideways. He grinned when his Ducky was pulled into Sherlock’s lap.

“John,” Sherlock started after a moment “Sherry has asked me a question and I’m having trouble answering it.”

John raised an eyebrow because Sherlock never admitted he was wrong without it being part of a scheme “Oh?” he queried anyway.

A hum a confirmation was his only response. His eyebrow climbed higher “Well?” He asked after a minute.

“Why do people still love each othah when they ah old and w’inkly?” Ducky piped up instead and John almost choked on the laughter that bubbled from his chest in shock.

“That….well,” he started and then paused, unsure of how to explain it so that it would make since to an inquisitive seven year old “Ah,” he said suddenly and patted Sherlock’s leg “Up, up, this is something that I can explain better by example. Come on, everyone get your boots on.”

The three of them trekked to the back porch and pulled on their muddy rubber boots and John made his way across the open field behind the house, Sherlock and Sherrinford following dutifully after the doctor.

They came to a stop in front of the peach tree that stood proudly off to the edge of the field, several meters in front of Sherlock’s bees. John waved a hand, encouraging the boy to come forward, and crouched down to look into the child’s eyes. His knees didn’t protest quiet as much as Sherlock’s did but they did ache a little and he huffed out a small sigh.

“Now Ducky, I want you to take a really big breath through your nose okay?”

He laughed so hard he almost lost his balance and fell on his rump when the boy did as he was told and let out a loud “Eeewww!” and clasped a hand over his screwed up nose and mouth. A deep rumbling behind them let John know Sherlock had been watching as well.

“That doesn’t smell very good does it?”

The boy shook his head no viciously and John couldn’t help but chuckle again. He picked up a fallen peach that was overly ripe and had started to decay.

“Would you like a bite?” John asked and smiled softly when Ducky shook his head again no less furiously then the last time “This is the start of something, and it’s not very good right now is it?” Another head shake.

John stood up and dropped the peach and reached out his hand to twine his fingers with Sherlock, who ignored his juice sticky flesh and tightened his grip on the smaller tan hand in return.

“It’s like that with people too, sometimes they start out gross and you don’t want to touch them, but come one, I want to show you something else.”

Small hands reached up and clasped his free hand and he smiled as they started to walk back towards the house.

“Did you see all the peaches on the ground that were rotten?” John asked after a few minutes.

“Yes,” Ducky replied slowly, not sure what John was talking about, people weren’t like peaches and they certainly didn’t smell like that.

“They were doing something called fermenting, where they break down—like when you and Sherlock do experiments—and let out that yucky smell, but that’s just the start of a long process.”

Ducky nodded, he knew about experiments, he helped Sherlock do them all the time, though he was still not sure that people where like peaches, or experiments.

They stopped again, this time at the outside entrance to the house’s cellar, which John heaved open and climbed down into followed by Ducky and then Sherlock.

John slowly made his way towards the back and stopped at one of the last shelves. He gently pulled a bottle from the rack and blew the dust off. He held it out for the boy to see.

“P…p..ea..ch peach hon…ey, peach honey,” Ducky read slowly, looking over the spikey yet pretty looking handwriting. He looked up at John in question.

“Do you know what this is?”

“People stop by to get some lots ‘cause they think it tastes good!” Ducky said proudly and John nodded.

“Would you believe that people come from all over London to get this?”

“But it’s so diwty!” Ducky protested, because who would want a dirty bottle?

John hummed in agreement “It is, but that doesn’t mean what’s inside isn’t good.”

Ducky paused and thought that over for a bit before nodding.

“Did you know that it’s made when the peaches ferment like they were outside under the tree?”

A wide eyed look was the answer he got.

“People sometimes overlook the peaches that don’t match what they want so they leave them on the tree to get too heavy and fall off and they lay on the ground until they rot and people think that’s really gross and useless but see, when you treat them right, when you take the time to prepare the rotting peaches, they can turn into something really good, like this wine, and the longer it sets the sweeter and better it gets. People are like that too. Sometimes they’re not okay, and other people think they’re rotten and leave them to sit and break down into nothing, but when you treat them right, and stay with them, they can turn into something really good. Do you believe Sherlock is rotten and yucky like the peaches under the tree?”

He smiled to himself when Ducky gasped and looked at John in betrayal, unable to believe John would say something like that about Sherlock.

“I would be,” Sherlock cut in, placing a hand on Sherrinford’s head to turn his attention away from John.

“I was like one of those peaches that no one wanted and I was starting to rot and ferment, but John cared for me and took his time to make sure that I would turn out like the wine, something that people would want, something that he would always want instead of the nasty mush under the tree. It’s all about time; it makes some things go bad—like milk—but sometimes it makes things better. Like it made the peaches go from nasty mush to wine that people really like. People are one of the things times makes better, when you love someone you don’t stop loving them because they get older, you love them more because they get better with age.”

Sherrinford nodded his head though he didn’t understand it all. He supposed that he would eventually.

Sherlock caught John’s eye over Sherrinford’s head and leaned in slowly “We’ll keep getting better too, you’re still getting better with age, still getting sweeter with ever new day,” he whispered and John smiled, leaning into Sherlock as well, catching his lips in a short, loving kiss.

“Sometimes I find that hard to believe, you know, that we could get better than this, but I guess we’ll just have to see.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, if you catach a mistake feel free to let me know because I'm too tired to check it over. I'm off to bed now, but review yeah?


End file.
